by Emily Deady
He looked back up at the girl beside him. “What are you doing here?” His voice was defensive.
She took a half step backwards, her face clouding with doubt. “Searching for decorations for the crown prince’s ball, my Lord.” She dropped her face to the ground, hiding it from him.
“Oh, no.” Onric realized too late that his question had caused her to transform into timidity once again. “You have every right to be here. I was just surprised, is all.”
“I’m sorry for startling you, my Lord.” She dropped into a curtsy and took another step back towards the corner she had been in. “I had better get back to the search.”
“No, no, you misunderstand me. You have no reason to apologize. I was the one trying to make an apology to you.” He followed her around the crates. She seemed to talk best when she was not focused on herself. “So, Steward Daniel sent you up here to find hidden treasures for my brother’s ball?”
She had dropped to her knees in front of an open crate. “Yes, he thought that since I . . .” She paused.
“Since you?”
“He thought that I would have a good eye for finding items from our past that might show us hope for the future.”
“That sounds like something my mother came up with.”
“It seems to be the theme they would like this event to convey.” Her words were careful and guarded.
“And I take it some poor girl who is chosen to be the crown princess is supposed to bring us all hope for the future.”
“Either that, or the crown prince himself is supposed to be that hope.”
Onric bristled. Of course, the theme of the event would make his brother the hope of the kingdom. Well, enough talk of that, then. “Have you found anything interesting?”
“I’m not sure . . . Do you think this counts as interesting?” She lifted a small painting from the crate and held it out for his inspection.
The chipped and faded image depicted a sallow old man, whose nose looked more like the beak of an eagle than the appendage of a human. The Iseldis crown rested upon his brow, but Onric did not recognize him from all his lessons on genealogy. Ian probably would, though. He pushed that thought from his mind.
“I do hope that is not one of my ancestors.” He shuddered. “If it is, then there is no hope for my already large nose.” He grinned at her over the portrait.
She smiled back. Warmth spread through his body. He stepped to her side to peer down into the crate she was unpacking.
“What other monstrosities have you uncovered?”
She reached to her side and unwrapped an object that was covered in canvas. “This one is actually rather lovely,” she offered. It was a glass sculpture in the shape of a rose. A clear glass stem complete with thorns twisted up into blood-red petals. “I can’t imagine how they created something so intricate so long ago.”
“They say the Majis were skilled in crystal work.”
At the word Majis, she quickly put the figurine back on the pile of canvas. “Do you think it might be spelled?”
“No, it’s not likely. All those objects were confiscated seasons ago.”
Without reaching back down to touch it, she tilted her head, admiring the rose from all angles. “It’s hard to believe someone so evil could produce something so beautiful.”
“I know, right?” He picked it up, twisting it in his hands to admire it for himself. “Most of the things they created were used for destruction or torture.”
“But this is so graceful and elegant.” She reached out and ran her finger around the edge of a petal. Maybe she was emboldened by the fact that he himself was touching it without fear. “Perhaps this was not made by a Majis,” she added.
“Mhhh. If it’s old enough to be stuffed away in this tower, then it was likely created before a quotidian craftsman would have this kind of skill. They still don’t have this type of skill. They say that all figurines were created by the Majis.” Onric was rambling, but his mind was trying to work out what she had said. He had always been fascinated by the stories of the horrifying creations made by magic, but he had never stopped to consider beautiful or mundane creations as well.
“All glass figurines?”
He pulled his gaze from the rose to focus on the true beauty in the room. This was the first time he had seen her in the daylight, he realized, and she did not need the soft flickering of a candle to make her skin glow. What had they been talking about? Right, the figurine she had found. He placed it down on the canvas. “This would be a perfect addition to the decor for Ian’s ball,” he reassured her.
She smiled, “Thank you. I’ll take it down to the steward and see if he wants me to continue exploring this room.” She carefully wrapped the canvas around it.
He did not want her to leave.
She picked it up and turned towards him. He was blocking her way to the door, but he could not come up with an excuse for her to stay. His mind was clearly not working. He stepped aside to let her pass, his heart skipping a beat as her shoulder brushed his chest when she moved past him in the narrow space. She stopped a few paces later, looking over towards the pile of canvas and the forgotten needle. “Do you need help sewing something, my Lord?”
“Yes, actually—yes!” Finally, he had a good excuse to continue talking to her for a few moments. “I quite forgot that you are an excellent seamstress.”
She set the figurine down and met him at his canvas. “What exactly are you making?”
He could not think of any reasonable answer that involved a giant piece of canvas with a single stitch made in the corner. “Uhh . . . I’m testing out this needle to see if it would make a good gift for my sister, Meena. It didn’t look very sharp, so I just wanted to test it . . .” He stopped talking before he worked himself into a deeper hole.
“Does the princess like to sew?” She was standing right next to him now, fingering the corner of the canvas and reaching for the needle.
“Not really,” he said, answering honestly.
She looked up at him. “Should you not get her something she would enjoy, then?”
“Good point.” He scratched the back of his neck.
She reached back down for the needle and situated the fabric between her fingers. He couldn’t tell her he was testing out a spelled item. And since he didn’t know how to sew, he didn’t know if he would be able tell if it was spelled himself. He didn’t know what it would do. Wait! What if it was spelled to harm the user?
“Stop!” he cried. The point of the needle was pressing against the fabric but had not broken through yet. She pulled it back, shrinking away from him again.
He reached out, wanting to place a reassuring hand on her shoulder, but refrained from touching her. “No, you are fine. I just . . . I did not tell you the whole truth.”
She looked up at him, eyes wide and confused.
“I was testing this needle . . . for other reasons. It is not meant to be a gift for my sister. I was testing it, though I am not good enough at sewing to know how to accurately assess it, so I wanted to see what you could do with it, but then I realized . . .” He wanted to tell her the truth; he instantly trusted her. But he knew better than to share his secret search for the source of the magic. “I’m sorry . . .” he trailed off.
“I’m confused,” she whispered. She stepped away, setting the fabric and needle back down on the crate. “If I may take my leave, I must get back to the steward before he comes looking for me.”
“Of course!” The thought that she was judging him turned his stomach to knots, but he couldn’t demand that she stay. “And again, I am so sorry. I should never have deceived you.”
She dropped a quick curtsy, her face once again disappearing beneath her bowed head as she quietly disappeared behind the wooden door.
He absently picked up the needle, threading it through the fabric a few times. Nothing happened, except for the fact that he had made a handful of large, awkward stitches. He sighed in disappointment.
Chapter 7<
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“This is perfect!” Steward Daniel admired the glass rose, his round face flushed with excitement. “I knew you would have the right eye for finding items that honor our past.”
Ashlin forced her mind to focus on what the steward was saying even though her thoughts kept racing in other directions.
“Oh, sorry my dear. I do not mean to make light of your circumstances, but coming from a good family, you obviously have a taste for the arts.”
She smiled away his apology. She had started the day helping other servants clear out the ballroom, but the steward had pulled her away from her tasks in the early evening. Remembering that her father had collected rare art pieces, he had asked if she would like to sort through the eastern tower in search of decorations for the ball.
She had gladly accepted his invitation, eager to take on more interesting tasks. Her stepmother now expected her to rise before dawn and had kept her busy with the most menial tasks. While Ashlin had tackled them all without complaining, she had arrived at the palace exhausted. And there were still many hours until she could return home at midnight. She swallowed down a yawn.
“What else did you see up there?”
An overly friendly member of the royal family who seemed to be hiding something! So many thoughts whirled in her mind, but the steward’s excitement was infectious and helped her to stay in the present. “Some old paintings and statues,” she replied, “though they are more likely to scare the future guests than reconnect them to the past.”
“Hah. Some things can remain in the past.” His hand swirled around the rose. “Do you think there are more beauties like this up there?”
“Oh, yes. I only searched through two crates.”
“Excellent. Excellent. Well, get back to it. I’m sure that will keep you plenty busy.”
“Mhh . . . Right now?” Ashlin squeezed her hands behind her back. They were slightly clammy. What if he was still there?
“Of course!” The steward had not seemed to notice her hesitation. “The ball is in three weeks! I cannot believe they did not give us enough time to prepare for this properly.”
Not wanting to disappoint the steward, Ashlin dipped her head and smiled. “Of course.” She had already disappeared down the hall when she heard the steward call after her.
“And child?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Leave early tonight. You look exhausted, and I need everyone at full capacity to pull this off. Including you.”
She blushed, a new wave of energy filling her at his kind words. “Thank you, sir.”
Back at the wooden door of the old tower, she paused, giving herself a moment before she pushed it open. She silently hoped that the prince would be gone, but part of her also hoped he would still be there. In every encounter she’d had with him, he had been kind. But he was still a prince, and for all he knew, she was a mere servant girl.
Besides, his attitude over the needle had been odd, and while she had instantly trusted him that night in the storm, she realized she needed to keep her guard up.
But he had smiled so genuinely when he had seen her behind the crates. She liked that feeling, of someone being pleased to see her.
She eased the door open. He was not there. Despite what her head was advising, her heart still dropped in disappointment. She shook the feeling away. She had a job to do.
She moved around the room, unsure of where to search next. Wanting to find something unique, she chose the dustiest section. It was furthest from the window, and the light was fading fast. Fortunately, she now knew how to find and light the portable lanterns the servants used in the early dawn or late at night. Lighting two, she placed them beside the dusty stack of crates and got to work. She started with the highest one, standing on top of another crate to reach into it while she gently sifted through its contents. For the most part, the objects were old and already broken. With a little polish, some of the serving utensils could be used in the ballroom, but nothing was as stunning as the rose.
She moved down to the next crate, setting aside a few silver platters and goblets. Perhaps they could be filled with fresh flowers? Finally, only the bottom crate remained. It was a large chest, sturdy and solid as though it had been waiting there for hundreds of years. For all Ashlin knew, it really could have been. Getting the empty crate off the top of it, she examined the lid to find out how to open it. There was a clasp in the front, but if it had a lock, it had long since rusted away. She undid the clasp and pushed up against the lid.
It was heavy.
Even the lid was made of solid slabs of wood fitted tightly together. As she lifted it, the back end of the lid lost contact with the chest and twisted backwards, slamming back down between the chest and the stone wall behind it. Fortunately, she had been far enough away that her hands did not get smashed between them.
She coughed in the dust.
Bringing the lanterns closer, she realized that the leather hinges holding the lid in place had completely disintegrated. It really had been years since someone had bothered to open this chest. Maybe that meant there was another figurine in it that had been made by the Majis? Or perhaps it housed some instrument of torture or spelled curse? She gulped and pushed the lid off the back of the chest.
All she could see inside was a layer of loose wool, surprisingly still intact. Broken stems and leaves suggested that it had once been packed with sprigs of lavender or hyssop. But if they had provided any pleasantness of scent, it was long since gone. She was afraid to breathe, not wanting to inhale more dust and mold.
Carefully lifting the loose wool out in bunches, she uncovered a large canvas bundle that nearly filled the entire chest. She was unable to lift it, so she peeled back the layer of canvas. Bringing the lantern closer, she saw thick layers of fabric that appeared to be wrapped in a giant scroll. The fabric had close, tight stitching on it . . .
A tapestry!
It had once been a much-revered art form, but as painting had become the preferred method for flattering portraits, tapestries had gone out of favor. Mistress Cedrice would love to see this! She would coo over the craftsmanship and detail! Ashlin wished she could lift the heavy bundle and carry it all the way to the seamstress’s shop. But she would have to content herself with the one corner she could access. She bent forward to examine the stitches. They were perfect, tiny, the small threads expertly interlocking to create a section of solid blue as bright as the sky.
The color seemed bright, unfaded. She could hardly wait to unroll it and see what kind of story the stitched panels contained.
It was nearly midnight, but if someone was available to help lift this treasure out of the chest, she would gladly stay the whole night. Ah well, she could ask Hommlyn or Drirsi to help lift it in the morning.
Chapter 8
“Onric, you absolute fool,” the young prince berated himself. “Your skull is as empty as a flagon of good mead.”
He jumped out of bed and wrapped himself in his warmest cloak. His mind refused to sleep as his conscience pricked with guilt. Or was it the image of a certain young woman he couldn’t seem to shut out?
That young woman, whose name he still did not know, would likely never speak to him again after the way he had raised his voice and then given the sorriest excuse for doing so.
It seemed that every time he opened his mouth around her, he only hurt her. Not that he was trying to, it just . . . He was an idiot.
She seemed particularly aware of herself, as though she thought she was always at fault. Normally, he could not stand the kind of person who was always sorry for themselves, but he had also seen brief moments where a carefree laugh or tease seemed to shine through.
He felt a certain responsibility to make her laugh. He knew he held a privileged position in life, but it seemed that most of the servants at the castle seemed fairly happy and comfortable. She was different.
She was gentle. Small. And her eyes held a life all their own. They contained both a pain and a joy he longed to unrave
l.
He had to get her out of his head if he wanted to start sleeping again.
For now, though, he had different plans. He quietly made his way out down the hall so as not to wake any of his siblings in the adjoining rooms. Once in the clear, he picked up his pace, hoping he wasn’t too late as he sprinted to the stables and saddled Blossom.
“Hey, my good boy,” he said, soothing the confused animal, “fancy a midnight ramble?”
Walking in front of the horse, he led it to the side gate of the castle that was mostly frequented by the servants. He and his siblings often used it themselves when they did not want to be noticed.
Most of the servants were housed at the palace, but a small handful came up daily from the small city below. The girl must have really convinced the steward to bring her on, as most of the evening shifts were given to the servants who lived on the premises. Smiling, Onric could instantly imagine the sweet young woman winning over the testy steward. He was a short man with a shorter temper, but he really did have a heart of gold. There was a reason he was trusted with the management of the entire palace.
Onric settled against the courtyard wall and removed his hood despite the frigid cold. He did not want to surprise the girl by bursting out of the dark shadows. The flaming torch on the wall offered a small modicum of warmth, but not much.
She probably needed the extra work desperately. Likely, she had a family somewhere she was trying to support. Younger siblings, maybe? Aging parents?
He only hoped she had not yet left the palace.
He was about to give up his wait when a small figure exited the castle on the other side of the courtyard. He could not see her face in the dim torchlight, but her silhouette was easy to make out as she was not even wearing a cloak.
She noticed him immediately and continued walking towards the gate where he stood. She dipped into a curtsy as she approached. “Prince Onric?”